Getting Conned
by Stre
Summary: AU. It didn't take much to trick him into coming. Soul would do anything to patch up his unstable relationship with Maka. But going to an anime convention? That didn't make any sense. /Late bday gift fic for Redemption13. Lemon and Crack warning./


**A/N: **This was written as a bday gift fic for Redemption13, more than a year ago. The first draft has been floating on the GW forum, but for those already familiar with the story, it might still be good to read this version because I cleaned up a lot of stuff and actually completed the ending.

To any new readers, I must warn you: there is an element of crack that plays a major plot point! This is an inside joke with Red and some of the GW people. Therefore, it probably won't be funny, but just read along and enjoy the rest. I apologize in advance for any other corny jokes.

* * *

**Getting Conned**

by Stré

* * *

_Day 0, 11:57PM_

Soul Evans stares at the shocking blue colour that now adorns his Japanese best friend's head. "Dude, what the fuck happened to your hair?"

"I dyed it!" he hollers proudly, and Soul responds with a disapproving shake as he steps foot inside the surprisingly tidy apartment. " Tsubaki helped me out, but it was _my_ awesome idea."

"_Awesome_? BlackStar, you look like some ridiculous cartoon character!" There was no point of having tact when it came to his obnoxious friend, and Soul wasn't particularly pleased at this late hour, especially when he was urgently called—summoned as the idiot had yelled over the phone—for reasons that he has yet to learn.

"It's not cartoon. It's _anime_."

Lazy red eyes stare incredulously for a moment, but BlackStar doesn't seem to notice the patronizing aura of his friend's body language, even with the facepalm and the incessant shakes of his white-haired head.

Soul scowls. "So is this your urgent news? Your _hair_?"

"Oh hell no! I've summoned you for even greater news, so brace yourself: we're going to Anime EXcalibur! The convention's in the neighbouring state, but still close to Death City so we'll roadtrip it there and—"

"Hang on, why am _I_ included in these plans?"

"Cuz Maka's gonna come."

Soul deadpans at the sound of that name. Maka Albarn. The girl with green eyes so sharp that her glare could pierce into one's soul. Commonly found in Shibusen University's library with a tuft of ash blonde hair peeking above the mound of her academic arsenal, she is also notorious for walking down the hallways with ramrod posture despite carrying a hefty amount of books that probably weigh more than her skinny frame could ever pack. It's no wonder that she earned the title of top student in her department, but to Soul, she represents a heavier load of baggage that he prefers to keep neatly stowed in an attic where he could tuck away those complicated feelings.

Friends, partners, lovers, _soulmates_. Labels were for chumps, so he finally concluded that their relationship held no name and it was best to go with the flow. But the only thing that honestly bothered him about their unspoken arrangement was that neither would call each other to "check up" or "talk just to hear their voice"— in fact, they had once gotten into such a habit and quickly realised the strain it had placed on their friendship. Or rather, Maka had suddenly ignored him for a whole month by changing her telephone number without notice, and when he finally confronted her by stalking outside of her apartment like some pathetic uncool loser, she had brushed the matter off by saying "I thought you knew" and "I must have forgotten to tell you cuz I've been too busy…" Apparently, changing one's number for no reason was entirely normal. Not to mention, it was also apparently normal that her oversized brain would suddenly malfunction and that she would simply _forget_ to relay the information to the guy she had been sleeping with for the past few _years_— but Soul bit back his tongue like usual and accepted her excuse.

The incident was ancient history, one that never should be repeated, yet he finds himself once again in the awkward silence of her distant behaviour. It has only been a couple of weeks since they have last seen each other, but it was the nature of their last meeting that felt unsettling, particularly the image of her bare body hastily slipping into her clothes the morning after, and more importantly, the shaky goodbye with his stupid big mouth uttering the three words that probably— oh fuck it, he isn't getting into _that _headache at this late hour.

"I'm going home now, if that's all you wanted to say." Soul turns his back and heads straight for the door without shedding an ounce of emotion. He had no interest in this childish anime convention, and he wanted his next meeting with Maka to be private, away from the nosy stares of their friends. There was no way he would go on a roadtrip, just because she was going to be there…

"Tchh, it's your loss," BlackStar yells to the retreating figure that's already down the hall. "We're getting her to dress as a sexy bunny!"

He stops dead in his tracks, but still doesn't turn around to face the triumphant grin gracing his obnoxious buddy's features.

"When do we leave?" he asks, strictly business.

"Tomorrow, 9AM."

"Alright, see ya then."

* * *

_Day 1, 10:10AM_

"YAHOOO~~~ ANIME EX, HERE WE COME!" BlackStar continues to scream nonsense with his head craned outside the vehicle like an overexcited dog flapping its tongue against the rushing air. Each of his barks stretch into the distance of the clear highway, probably reaching the ears of their other friends' car that they have long passed since the loudmouth happens to be in charge of the wheel.

"Umm… BlackStar," says Tsubaki, putting a gentle hand on her partner's shoulder. "It might be good to close the window because the air-conditioning is on… but if you want the natural air, we can turn it off and—"

"Oh, my bad," he complies rather easily, and winds up the window without hesitation. Tsubaki, despite her meek demeanour, always held a certain power over her boyfriend's antics. That is, with the exception of his loud voice that jumps out of his mouth before she can catch it; the deafening noise now bounces off the walls of the confined space. "SO WE'RE LOOKIN' MIGHTY EXCITED BACK THERE!"

His audience, much to the contrary, hardly seems amused. Soul tears his attention off the blinking white road lines to momentarily meet the star-filled eyes in the rear-view mirror, but there was no way in hell that he'd return the huge grin plastered on BlackStar's face. Maka ignores the 'noise' entirely, fidgeting in the middle, and too preoccupied with keeping her thighs firmly closed so that she isn't pressed directly against the sour boy to her left. Chrona is the only one that tries to match the high spirits, but the smile comes out as a bizarre display of front teeth flapped over a lower lip, hence appearing more frightened than anything else. Nevertheless, BlackStar's good mood doesn't falter at the sight of this awkward trio, and he continues to spew more jargon that Soul effortlessly drowns out with the distracting thoughts plaguing his mind.

He discretely leers at the creamy skin only inches away from his lazy hand. He should never have trusted BlackStar. _Sexy bunny, my ass_. Indeed she is still daring, clad in a peculiar getup consisting of a string bikini top, a sliver of black leather shorts, boots up to her knees, and a trenchcoat to preserve some modesty, but her hair's in fuckin' _pigtails_. The ensemble somehow feels wrong, like he was suddenly bit by a lust for underage girls, and he has the growing suspicion that the car ride was going to be a long one.

Maka does an excellent job at keeping her personal space, not even a thread of her promiscuous garment brushes against his own, but he notices that she slightly overlaps into Chrona's territory, and the implication of this small detail pisses him off. It's not that he's jealous that her bare thigh is practically glued onto the black fabric of Chrona's dress, nor does it bother him that her delicate neck leans into the shoulder of their gangly friend. It's really the meaning behind her actions that boils his blood: she is clearly avoiding him and he doesn't understand _why_.

Too distracted by these questions, Soul completely forgot that his discrete glance had turned into quite the drawn-out stare, something long enough for Maka to finally take notice. She meets his gaze with slight annoyance, tacitly demanding what the hell he wanted, which is enough to snap him out of his brooding state. There was no way he was going to show weakness.

"Excited for this Anime Ex?" he says, giving her an obvious once-over. "Your attire sure seems _festive_," he adds, officially making her feel self-conscious since she tugs at the trenchcoat to cover her exposed skin.

"Not my idea." She pouts and shoots an evil look at the passenger seat, directed towards Tsubaki. "_She _wanted to test her costume-making skills, and she needed a model…apparently, I fit the character's stature so she pleaded for my help."

"You look cute, Maka-chan!" calls out Tsubaki, surprising them both since neither thought that their friend was eavesdropping. It reminded Soul that he should hold his tongue on the potential inappropriate comments that he'd like to make, particularly how those sinful shorts hug onto her crotch so tightly that she might as well just go bare. They hide nothing anyway. What the fuck was Tsubaki thinking?!

"So this character…is it your original design?" he asks the creator of this sin.

"Nope. It's a really popular character named _Onyx Stone Sniper_, and she's actually one of my favourites, so I wanted to see her in the flesh but I don't fit her body type." She blushes in embarrassment while BlackStar chuckles approvingly. "I was sure that Maka-chan could pull it off!"

Pull it off, whatever. Soul really doesn't give a shit about the accuracy of the costume or how Maka met the exact criteria of this fictional character. Because as she eases up and eventually rests a slim leg against his increasingly nervous thigh, his only concern is that _he_ wants to pull _it_ off: those tantalizing shorts.

* * *

_4:06PM_

What the fuck was he doing here?

The bunny suit had certainly been the kicker, but in hindsight, he could have probably coaxed Maka into a similar costume under more normal circumstances like Halloween, or maybe even for a themed party the Thompsons enjoyed hosting on a whim. If only he had realised this earlier, he wouldn't have taken BlackStar's bait so readily, and he wouldn't be under the blazing heat of the California sun, surrounded by flocks of equally radiant _freaks_ that are currently frying his retinas from all of their visual stimuli overload, namely by their flamboyant costumes and exaggerated gestures.

He can't seem to keep his cool, but he hides it well under the veil of indifference. Perhaps it was the cult-like atmosphere, an excitement brought about from the simple gathering of people with common interest, a festive environment that he could never find himself easing into. Moreover, there was something about the display of too many unnatural colours adorning the heads of these 'people' that made him want to jump back in the car and bolt back to his Nevada comfort zone. He shouldn't be one to talk since his own shock is a blinding white, but it's really the over-lustre shine of synthetic hair that makes him cringe, and he could almost feel its texture by the mere sight: bristly, fake, plastic. He shudders.

Maka had once mocked him about his texture issues, but she didn't know that he had quite the number of inexplicable items on that blacklist; there was no way he would divulge his weaknesses, in fear of getting attacked in retaliation by said items whenever he teased her for entertainment, which was a regular occurrence when they were on speaking terms. If he could keep the list secret, he would take it to the grave, but these freaks were messing up his streak since he became oh-so tempted to slip in snarky comments that may lead to Maka prying for more information.

He takes a deep breath, rolling his eyes upwards in an effort to appear tired or lazy. "Get me out of here," he mumbles to himself, and she catches every word like she always does.

"Tell me about it. I certainly didn't sign up for a thick trenchcoat in this heat."

He really wants to say that he didn't receive what he signed up for either because 'bikini-attire' did not equate 'bunny suit', but she fiddles with the collar of her jacket, as if she was tempted to take it completely off, and he suddenly feels the leers of their surrounding crowd. "Leave it on," he commands.

"Excuse me?"

"You'll burn otherwise." He knows her fair skin didn't stand a chance against these UV rays, but he also needs to protect her against the laser-sharp glares of the perverts that lurk around. "Remember last year at the beach? You were peeling and whining for three weeks after the event; just accept the fact that you can't handle the sun. So leave _that_ on."

Her cheeks puff up in a pout of frustration, while his ears tingle delightfully at the sound of her cute squeak of "humph" that seems to put a period to their discussion. They instead hang around in a comfortable silence, watching their friends pose for the million camera shutters that snap like gunfire, and he discretely tries to shield Maka from the attack.

"Don't ya think it's kindda ridiculous?" he asks.

"The naked man with the gold leaf on his crotch, or the woman in full body paint showing off her cellulite?"

"Both. But also that it's been half an hour, and we're still in the parking lot."

She shrugs. "Let them have their fun. They've been looking forward to this event for months."

"Hang on, months? But I was only told _yesterday_."

She takes a moment to digest this news, but quickly forms a conclusion with that oversized brain of hers. "Oh, it must be from having to take two cars."

"Now that explains _everything_!"

"Shut your sarcasm, I'm not done explaining. Originally, Kidd was going to take the van with Liz, Patty, BlackStar, Tsubaki, Chrona and I… but then, Ox and Harvar wanted to hop in the trip too. And as you know, wherever Ox goes, Kim sneaks into the plans, and Jackie follows. I bet BlackStar volunteered to take his own car… then he probably forced you to come, to split the cost."

Oddly enough, BlackStar had yet to mention anything about money. Soul really wonders what his best friend was concocting in that pea-size brain of his. Was he trying to play cupid? Was he _actually_ after the well-being of his love life? Soul should probably just ask him directly because that was how BlackStar worked: direct confrontation always led to honest answers. But unfortunately, it proved to be impossible to get a private word out of him, whatwith the horde of rabid fans surrounding the pseudo-ninja and his girlfriend, so he endures the endless questions swimming in his mind.

"How _did _he convince you to come anyways?" she casually slips in. "I thought you hated these types of… social events."

Shit. Just the question he didn't want to hear. It's not like he can possibly say 'to see you in a sexy bunny suit', so he bends the truth. "He didn't have to _convince_ me. I haven't been out of town in a while, so it seemed like a cool change of pace."

He isn't lying, but he knows that _she_ _knows_ that it's not the whole story. Luckily, a distraction in the form of a tall bear mascot seems to be running towards them, so their attention instead diverts to the peculiar approaching form. "That thing is coming for us."

Not quite "us", as it aims straight for Maka. Soul's reflexes are too slow and he doesn't manage to shield her before she gets bear-hugged so tight that she is lifted from the floor, her slim legs dangling in the air as she tries to kick her way to freedom.

"Oi, you bastard! Let go of her," he growls, immediately grabbing the bear's arm and trying to pry it off the poor suffocating girl.

BlackStar cackles in the background. "BWHAHAHA! Maka got caught by the PEDOBEAR!"

Their audience also erupts into laughter because _apparently_ the situation was inexplicably hilarious, and Soul feels the anger rise in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't want to cause a scene, but he's ready to kick the living shit out of that fuckin' bear.

Maka however kicks literally into action: the bear must be male inside that costume because it keels over and lets her go when her boot collides between its legs, right where it would hurt most. She lands graciously on her feet, smoothes out her jacket, and steps over the lying heap of fur on the ground.

Soul can't help but smirk at her badass display. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"Pfftt, that's what I do when I don't have access to books."

"Then remind me to always carry a spare book just in case."

Her green eyes twinkle devilishly. "Go fetch me one right now. So I can clock BlackStar and we can get our asses moving out of this damn sun!"

"Why use a book when you've got those lovely boots on?" He gives her another flirtatious once-over, and the blush creeps up on her fair skin.

"Good call."

* * *

_Day 2, 10AM_

BlackStar kept his promise, but Soul couldn't fully reap the reward, and he vented his frustration through violent mental images of slicing his best friend into bite-sized bits with a scythe. But really, no matter how air-headed the loudmouth could be, there was no way he would have _known_ because Soul was very tight-lipped when it came to certain things…

It is still morning, but the raging sun nevertheless beats down on their costumed backs, and the gang is ready for a full real day at Anime EX. Soul doesn't know if his friends had planned this all along because he suspiciously finds himself paired with only Maka; maybe the group's interests were really that different and they were all off gallivanting in various directions, but regardless of their intentions, he is thankful that he can finally spend some quality time with her. Aside from the synthetic freaks that fill up their environment, there's only one problem to the situation…

"Hey Soul, let's go check out the Dealer's room. Tsubaki told me that they have a crazy collection of books for sale."

"Yeah, pick something up, so I won't have to fear your steel toes." He chuckles at yesterday's memory of Maka threatening BlackStar, in which she did not end up maiming his family jewels. BlackStar said that he'd be able to take the blow, and yet they somehow crossed the parking lot without once stopping for the camera flashes, until finally reaching the haven of their air-conditioned hotel in record timing.

She looks down at her dainty toes exposed under thin white straps of soft leather. "Hmmm... now I really have to buy something because these stupid shoes are as threatening as these fluffy ears and lame cottontail."

Her ass does a little wiggle to prove her point, but it's surprisingly easy for him to bite back the urge of groping because—oh Death, he doesn't want to think about it. The outfit suits her well, a little too well judging by the many stares of both male and female admirers as they peruse the crowded aisles of the Dealer's room. He wonders if this is another of Tsubaki's favourite fictional characters because the ensemble is not the classic sexy bunny look of black skimpy leotard with fishnet and stilettos. Instead, her modest bust is accentuated by a lacy corset that covers her taut stomach, but leaves more room for imagination with its skin-tight quality. Same goes for the slit on her bum where the cottontail pokes out: the loose harem pants may hide the slim shape of her legs, but that one tasteful detail leaves the world to wonder what lies beneath.

"Oh shit, it's that stupid Pedobear thing!" Maka hisses, ducking behind Soul's taller frame. He supposes that she can't quite kick the bear in the nuts with her open-toed shoes. Although, she can probably do some damage with those sharp heels, but it still seemed like a risk to her delicate feet.

Her hands clutch onto the back of his orange shirt as she presses closer, breathing into him and waiting for the coast to be clear. The proximity of her warm flesh gives him hope, since he can feel the trust through her actions, from her simple instinct of diving for his protection.

But when she returns to his side, her hips brush against his limp hand and he jerks back as if he had just touched fire. Because he had felt _it_, the wispy tickling flames of that very horrible sensation of her pants that so happen to be made out of...

_Velvet._

The number one culprit on his blacklist of texture issues. In that brief contact, he felt a surge of repulsion, the distinct synthetic fuzz that made every hair of his body stand more upright than Maka's posture.

"Soul, what's wrong?" she inquires, green eyes filled with concern. When she reaches for his hand, he involuntarily evades her grasp in fear of having to feel that awful texture once more. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an added precaution.

"Nothing really," he says with indifference. "I just thought I saw the bear again."

"But you look really tensed."

"You know I hate crowds."

She eyes him suspiciously because Maka Albarn was no fool, but she drops the topic. It's the second time this weekend that she simply gives into his words, and although she wants to press him further, she also wants to respect his space.

They stop at a booth completely lined with books, and she busies herself looking through the titles. She feels his protective aura, but there's something oddly distant about his behaviour. It could be his posture, way too laid-back, hands in his pocket, and looking like the epitome of not giving a shit about anything in the world, herself included. She had never been on the receiving end of his indifference, and that new idea momentarily puts her on edge.

Perhaps a change of environment would ease him into comfort. "Well, nothing catches my eye, so shall we head out? Maybe get some lunch at a restaurant nearby?"

"Sure, whatever."

Those red eyes appear guarded and cold. Maka doesn't like this one bit.

* * *

_12:26PM_

There was something seriously wrong with Soul, and she tries to trace back her words and actions. She admits that she may have been a little distant yesterday in the car, mainly due to her embarrassing attire that she was forced to wear, and perhaps from the awkwardness of their last impression involving morning-afters and the-three-words. Today wasn't any better in terms of garments, but she at least felt comfortable around him, since it was impossible to stay distant when he was so physically close.

She watches him from the corner of her eye as he munches on the stale bread of their subpar submarine sandwich, and she takes a deep breath of fresh air before taking a bite out of her own. It's not like they wanted to eat outside, since Soul would have much rather enjoyed the air-conditioned environment of the restaurant, but each place was so packed that they finally had to settle for takeout. Luckily, a patch of grass with the luxury of a tree was readily available, so they claimed their space and ate in silence.

The leafy branches cast shadows in bizarre patterns on his skin, and she is reminded of tribal tattoos on a demon—or maybe it's just the anime environment that is fuelling her overactive imagination. But a demon suits him well because Soul was devilishly cunning at times.

For one, she could never pinpoint how he weaved himself so tightly into her life, even after all the resistance she had shown him. It wasn't her fault that she was scared of commitment, and men weren't particularly on her priority list when she was too busy being Shibusen's top student. She however had to admit that _he_ had been the first to be reserved and aloof, while _she_ had taken the initiative to break him out of his shell. But once that barrier had been broken, basically from its literal sense— yes, involving a certain three-letter word that starts with s and ends with x— he had showered her with subtle hints of wanting to be more than friends, and she had responded with the indifference he was notorious for.

That was the main thing that she feared: losing a friend if things didn't turn out, and Soul was a very important person she could not bear parting from. In her strict guidelines to life, sleeping with a friend was on the list of forbidden things, but once again, that cunning demon managed to bypass her set rules.

"Blarg." She drops her sandwich on the wax paper covering her lap.

"What's wrong," he asks, eyeing her curiously.

"This lunch is so stale, I've lost my appetite."

"Oh c'mon, don't waste it." He reaches over to grab the discarded piece of food, but she picks it back up before he can snatch it. "Maka, what the hell! You don't even want to eat it."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean that I'll let you have it."

He seems to be considering something as he stares at her lap, and she notices a distinct shudder. "Whatever, I didn't really want it anyways."

The unsettling feeling curdles once again in Maka's stomach, which has nothing to do with the awful sandwich that she wolfs down in quick large bites. She swallows the dry meal along with her insecurities, and hopes that the day will turn for the better.

* * *

_1:15PM_

Curse hope. It was such a fickle waste of energy that gives her brain a pulsing headache, since she must work on overdrive from the constant mantra that she repeats like a broken record, trying to convince herself that the day will indeed get better. She's very stubborn, but her tenacity can only go so far with every gruelling second of his cold demeanour and each subtle twitch of his body when she attempts to close the distance.

He also fights an internal battle. It was finally his chance to straighten things out with the girl that he has been longing for, but he can't muster the courage to even reach for her hand, whatwith the danger of that awful velvet. Some may deem his reason stupid, but it was a perilous risk that he didn't want to take.

A piercing screech interrupts both of their thoughts, and while bizarre sounds were a regular occurrence in this environment, their muscles tense up at the intuitive feeling that the excitement was aimed towards them. They turn around to find a rabid excuse of a female, frantically running straight in their direction, knocking the crowd out of the way and causing quite the commotion.

They barely exchange nervous glances before the fangirl stands in full presence, eyes bulging out of its sockets and mouth hanging sloppily in awe. Soul steps back in alarm, but she rudely grabs his arm before he can escape.

That doesn't sit well with Maka. She is about to give the annoying brat a piece of her suppressed anger for touching _her_ man, but she chokes on her breath when a scantily-clad figure shoves into her way with a bump of her very voluptuous chest, causing the irate girl to momentarily stagger and nearly lose balance.

"Whoops, sorry cutie. Didn't see ya there," the bimbo says with a flirtatious wink of her long-lashed golden-coloured eyes, and then hones her focus onto Soul. "Nyahh~ he is _perfect_. We hafta get a pic!"

The word 'pic', as in 'picture', is enough to slap Maka's anger into full force. "_Excuse me_? Now, why would _you_ want a picture with _him,_" she spits out venomously, green eyes reduced to furious slits.

Glossy lips curve up into a devious smile, and the sly cat-like woman responds with a few light-hearted giggles that fuel Maka's irritation. The other fangirl however rushes for an explanation in order to ease the rising tension. "I know it may sound weird to ask for a photo when he's not cosplaying, but he looks _exactly_ like the main character of our favourite anime, and Bu-tan here is also dressed as a character from the series, so it would really _really_ mean the world to me if I could take some photos of your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Then where's the problem?"

"The _problem_ is in the fact that he's not dressed up," says Maka in the most intimidating tone, causing the poor girl to wince. "It's pretty rude to ask for someone's photo out of the blue. Which anime series is this character from anyway?"

"Spirit Devourer," she responds meekly.

What a stupid name, Soul thinks to himself. And moreover, this entire situation was even more laughable at the fact that they needed permission from _Maka_ to get a picture of _him_. It really wasn't a big deal in his perspective, but he appreciates the concern.

"Ya know, I'm fine with getting my picture taken," he casually drawls, and the fangirl swoons at his voice, whispering that 'he even sounds like him'. Maka however looks livid and appalled, but can't really protest further if he agreed to the request.

The damn bitch cat once again smiles deviously and poses for the camera, leaning into Soul in a way that does not sit well with the green-eyed girl who twitches uncomfortably at the sight of that lascivious hand creeping its way onto his relaxed shoulder. A skanky girl fawning over her man certainly pissed her off, but what really drove her over the edge was the fact that _he_ was being receptive to the open contact of this stranger, especially after he had ignored his own supposed 'lover' the whole day. The nerve of that asshole. Men were all scum.

"Okay, one last shot," announces the happy fangirl, much to Maka's relief. "Bu-tan, do something really in character!"

The cat winks, not at the photographer, but at the fidgety bunny. "Butan will give it her best!"

In a flash, those manicured hands claw into the white-haired scalp, forcing his head down into her excessive cleavage as she rubs his nose against her seductive skin. And in that same instant, with frightening reflexes, Maka's balled fist flies in for a straight punch towards the pair.

A flirtatious cackle. A gravelly groan. And the war cry of a certain flustered wild rabbit. The vicious jab collides into _his_ flushed cheek, since the sneaky cat managed to avoid the hit by releasing the suffocating man and using him as a cover. With more giggling, she slinks away with the fangirl, slipping into the throngs of their audience that have grown rather dense because of the noisy scuffle.

Instead of feeling sympathetic towards Soul, she kicks him in the shin as an added bonus. "Asshole, you get what you fuckin' deserve."

Her cottontail bobs as she stalks off, her face fuming and brimming with angry tears.

* * *

_1:38PM_

"Oi~ Maka! Wait up!"

He doesn't give a shit that his cheek is swelling up like a nasty tumor, or that his gait is reduced to an awkward limp from his shin still throbbing in pain. He needs to get her attention, to sit down and talk. The cat-girl incident tipped the scale, but her issues were obviously deep-rooted and if he didn't solve them now, their relationship would likely suffer an even bigger blow than the one administered to his face.

"Maka!"

She ignores his cries, quickening her pace into a full-out run because she just wants to be alone. Those held-back tears are now rolling down her rosy cheeks, smudging the light makeup that Tsubaki carefully painted that same morning, during the time when she still had _hope_. Strangers whisper gossipingly, but she pays no heed. She just wants to get away, far from all this stupid drama, and out of range from the source of her haywire emotions.

The crowds recede as she finally reaches a quiet hallway lined with a series of doors, not a loitering soul (or Soul) in sight. She doesn't look back, but the echoing tap of her heels against the tiles indicate that she is the only one walking this path, meaning she successfully threw off her white-haired limping stalker. Ducking into one of the dark rooms as an added precaution, her tear-stained face is confronted with a blinding light from the screen on the back wall.

She pauses to watch the scene unfold: colourful animal-like characters, moving playfully to the commands of their trainers, finally get zapped back into red and white balls hanging off the belts of their supposed masters. Noticing that the high-pitched voices from the screen are the only ones reverberating in the room, she finally realises that she is alone. Her tired legs collapse into a seat in the far corner, and she lets out an uninhibited sob that mingles with the sound effects of a certain yellow electrical rodent that refuses to be caged in the ball. Hugging her knees, she drowns in her misery.

Her weeping is so strong that she does not notice the light from the hallway seeping in from the opened door, nor the clicks of unbalanced footsteps as a slouchy male figure approaches her huddled form.

It's his voice that shakes her out of her trance. "You gonna cry all day?"

She simply looks up, not caring about the state of her puffy eyes that nearly match the swell on his cheek. Her normally expressive glare instead looks blank, as if her emotions had drained completely away with all the tears that she had shed.

"Maka, if you don't tell me what's up, I'm not gonna understand." He takes a seat beside her, but still at a guarded distance.

She notices his slight reluctance because she knows him in and out. When she cries, he always comforts her with a warm hug, enlacing his toned arms around her shaky shoulders, whispering sweetly into her ear or whistling a tune when no words were needed. But right now, he is sitting rigidly and not making any attempt at physical contact.

Her legs shift slightly, and he jerks back on instinct; it confirms her suspicions, and the fire that fuels her hot temper ignites. "Soul, what the fuck is wrong? Why won't you touch me?"

He remains silent to her question.

"You're always like this," she concedes, letting out a sigh and shaking her head in defeat. "Always clamping up and avoiding confrontation."

He however riles up at the last bit of her statement. "Avoiding confrontation? Don't go there, Maka. You shouldn't be one to talk."

"_Excuse me_? I'm not the one always evading questions or changing the subject, kind of like what you're doing right now, just to avoid whatever problem you've got bottled up in that secretive mind of yours."

"Oh yeah? It's not like _I_ was the one to change my number without telling _you_, just because of whatever was going on in that oversized brain of _yours._"

She takes a mental step back. "Wait. What?"

He can no longer control the volume of his angry voice. "You always go on and on about how I don't express my fuckin' feelings, but you just go ahead and do the god damn same thing. You may be upfront with the things you say when we're directly in contact, and you pride yourself with your honest answers, but that's _only_ when I actually get to see you. Cuz lately, seems like you've been off in your own secretive land."

"Hey! I've been busy with sch—"

"Oh, and how could I forget," he interrupts, not even listening to her weak defense. "When I do actually say how I feel, ya know, like say how I fuckin' _love_ you, I just get a set of petrified green eyes and two weeks of silence."

His piercing gaze stabs her right in the heart. She feels the shame and she doesn't know how to respond because she knows how deplorable her actions were, and there was nothing that could be said to take it all back. She had her reasons and her fears, but it couldn't change the reality of her harsh behaviour towards the person she loved.

"Congratulations," she instead blurts out. "You officially changed the subject."

He lets out a sad chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief and taking a stand, seemingly at the ready to leave the room. She senses the tension and quickly tries to redeem herself. "I don't understand myself sometimes," she whispers.

"You know you can talk to me..."

"Soul, I know. I wanted to, but I didn't want to hurt you in case I said something insensitive out of impulse. I just wanted to be sure of my words before talking to you."

"For a girl so smart, you sure can be an idiot sometimes." She frowns but doesn't interject. "We've known eachother for what? 9 years?—"

"9 and 4 months."

"So for 9 years and 4 months, we've been through a lot, and you should know that I can withstand a lot of verbal and physical abuse. Your words I can handle. But your silence kills me."

"Soul, I'm so sorry." She gets up and reaches over for a hug, but he flinches once again, so she withdraws.

"It's okay, I know you are."

"Then why did you just reject my hug?"

"I..."

He clamps up, but she gives him space. She watches his mouth form words, but the mumbling remains completely indistinct.

"Soul, I didn't catch it under the noise of that stupid pikachu thing. Can you repeat what you said?"

He takes a deep breath. "_I hate velvet_."

"You hate..._velvet_? What has that got to do with anyth—"

"The texture. It pisses me off. To the point that my blood boils and I get inexplicably anxious because I don't want to touch that piece of shit synthetic fuzz because it makes me shudder and reminds me of those stupid piano recital benches upholstered in that evil material and then—"

It's all so absurd. Was he saying that his distance had nothing to do with the fact that she had placed him in such emotional turmoil for the past few weeks. Or even simply due to his anxiety for crowded, social situations. But it was all because of her pants that were made of… _velvet_?

"...endured quite a bit, until I couldn't take much more and barfed all over the glossy surface of the keys, but Wes managed to distract everyone with his flawless violin while—"

"Soul. Shut up and watch."

"Huh?"

"I said, shut the hell up and fuckin' _look at me_."

Her hands rest behind her back, so he can't see her fingers gripping into the hole where the cottontail pokes out. But he certainly hears the rip as she tugs viciously, stripping off the velvet from the hips that he always adored. She tears the pants completely off, throwing it a few seats ahead so that it doesn't risk touching him.

Her bottom is simply left in white lacy underwear, with the cute puffy tail on her butt crack and the flawless skin of her mile-long legs fully exposed in the dim light.

"Now will you touch me?"

* * *

_2:20PM_

Bunnies were achingly soft creatures. He doesn't know what he loves more, the texture of her perfect skin or the fact that she writhes under his palm, as he glides from the corseted back, over the lace of her buttocks, to finally rest onto the smoothness of her inner thigh. His other hand cups the side of her flushed face, index massaging the back of her ear like whispering the details to come. He leans in to claim her lips.

He may harbour an absurdly strong reaction towards the things that he hates, but it is the same intensity for the things that he loves. And her lips were much to his taste. They've always felt pink: sometimes pale and coy with the finest delicacy, other times bright and hot like fuchsia, eager to share their energy. He couldn't decide which shade she was today, but he knows that the heat emanating from their steamy kiss leaves a fire rushing straight down south.

Fingers rake into his hair, at first gentle, lightly tracing patterns. But when the kiss deepens, progressing to nips and bites, venturing lower to her beautiful neck, she grips the white locks tightly, nearly guiding his head towards where she wants to be touched by his tongue. He realises that today she was not pink. She tasted red, the colour of luxury, maturity, and desire.

They stumble back onto a chair, his knees buckle and she falls gracefully into his lap. Straddling so close, she can feel the hardened length beneath his jeans, which urges her to rub against it instinctively. His hands naturally rest on her backside, reaching under the fabric to feel the perfection of her hot ass.

She leans into his ear. "Soul...this is kind of public. Should we go back to our room?"

"No," he says firmly. "Here's fine."

"But...anyone can walk in."

"Naw, don't worry. No one gives a shit about some weird cartoon about a yellow rodent."

"I think a lot of people like it though! Especially the kids. What if a family decides to walk in and—"

He silences her with a vicious clamp of his lips onto hers, his tongue going straight to work, rolling away the words that he doesn't care to hear. She couldn't protest, not after the pent-up emotions that were now exploding, seeping out through their pores as the heat rises and matches the electric battle on screen.

His hand glides further under the lace and he reaches into her, deeply. He doesn't even need to tease her clit because she's already as wet as he is hard, but he does it anyway just to hear her mewl. Maka's hands also get to work, rustling the belt buckle, zipping down the fly and nudging off his pants and boxers by just the right amount to free his strain. She grabs onto his length, gripping firmly and stroking with such dexterity that he nearly blows his load like some inexperienced virgin.

Soul never liked quickies, although he can't complain since beggars aren't choosers. He is infinitely grateful for the turn of events, but after enduring her weeks of silence, he would have liked for their reunion to involve a little torture in the form of drawn-out foreplay within his control. She changes her position by shifting her hips upwards, and Soul thinks that she is about to get off his lap, to go down and take him whole with her mouth. His hands move up to rest on her shoulders, fiddling with the strands of ash blonde hair that cling to her moist neck; he patiently waits for the next exhilarating step.

She however does not leave his lap. With his cock still in her grasp, she strips off her panties with her spare hand, then guides him towards her entrance. She descends onto him in a fluid motion and he slides in like it was always meant to be. So much for being in control, as he lazily sits back and enjoys _her _ride.

The chair rattles violently, they grunt and moan, but to Soul's ears, the sound is drowned out by the distracting pokemon battle that is also reaching its climax. He however tries to hold out as long as possible, refusing to simply take everything. He perseveres through the anime's resolution, past the ending credits, and well into the next episode...

The ripped velvet pants lay completely forgotten.

* * *

_3:07PM_

BlackStar turns around abruptly when he hears a door click behind him. He can only see the backs of the retreating figures, but even in the heavily costumed environment, there is no mistaking that distinct white hair, orange shirt, with an arm draped over the shoulders of a petite ash blonde. He doesn't notice her bare legs and lace-covered ass.

"Oi, Soul! Maka!" he bellows and they stop in their tracks as he quickly catches up to them. "You guys were in there? I didn't think you'd be into Dragon Ball Z, so I didn't bother checking inside."

"Dragon Ball Z?" says Maka, a little confused. "It was Pokemon."

"Really? I swore I heard Goku powering up in there..."

* * *

_Day 3, 9:15AM._

His surroundings are a blur of pleasant colours, and the crowds that once disturbed Soul fade into the background like a forgotten memory. Even though Anime EXcalibur still has a full day of activities, the gang have packed their stuff and are heading home early, mainly because BlackStar said so. Maka suspects that Tsubaki must have had some influence on the decision, but Soul doesn't bother to question his friend since his only thought is on the soft hand that he holds, her slender fingers intertwined with his as they make their way through the parking lot.

"Is that Chrona?" Maka suddenly asks, indeed noticing their gangly friend wearing the same black dress for the third day. "And is Chrona actually _talking _to someone? Wait, that is...oh, _no_."

Maka lets go of Soul's hand and rushes up ahead. He takes his leisure pace behind her and chuckles loudly at the scene about to unfold. Nothing seems to foil his good mood, even at the sight of that blasted Pedobear that appears to be Chrona's new friend, which was what had triggered Maka's concern. She is tugging Chrona's arm, trying to drag them away, but Chrona remains absolutely still. It's only when the Pedobear lifts up its arms and takes off its head that Soul steps in for a closer look.

The man behind the mask isn't as hideous as they would have imagined. In fact, looking at him objectively, he could be considered quite handsome if his skin did not look so sallow and deathly pale. The large pimple at the center of his forehead, almost the size of a third eye, did not help his complexion either.

Maka's back stiffens as she intakes his appearance, and Soul can't quite read her reaction at all. Caught between fear, awe and doubt, the quick shift of emotion in her big green eyes made her look slightly insane. The creep's face then cracks into a huge smile.

"L-like what you see?"

She snaps out of her trance and frowns at him. Soul knows that look. It's the look of newfound courage and he is sure that she will retaliate with some vicious words, but his prediction falls slightly off the mark. It's not her words that she throws, but her fist. She punches straight into that mocking face, then grabs Chrona's arm and stalks off into the crowd. Before following her, Soul looks back to the man.

"Be happy it's not your balls again."

He lazily makes his way to the car and reaches it surprisingly quickly. Even though BlackStar and Tsubaki are nowhere to be found, Maka and Chrona had somehow found their way inside. Soul leans into the half open window. "Was it not locked, or did you break in?"

"Find BlackStar. We're leaving."

* * *

_1:10PM_

Her ash blonde hair presses against the side of his arm and he breathes in its sweet scent. Aside from the faint hum of collective breaths and the rumbling of tires speeding on the freeway, the car is dead silent. Soul inwardly scolds Tsubaki for falling asleep on the responsibility usually attached to riding shotgun, but then again, BlackStar can definitely hold his own on staying awake. To Maka's right, Chrona is also fast asleep and he notes with satisfaction that they're well into their own space, leaning against the window and not at all touching his girl.

With Maka finally at peace by his side, Soul feels at ease. Their relationship has changed for the better and he is sure that she won't run away from him again. His thoughts are clear, but there is still one question that remains at the back of his mind. "BlackStar, why did you really get me to come?"

His friend looks at him in the rear-view mirror and raises a brow in confusion.

"Cuz Maka was gonna come," he answers simply. "She did, didn't she?"

"Yeah..." Soul smirks. "She came."


End file.
